Better Than Booze
by lastrequest
Summary: He wondered why they hadn't thought of it sooner...


A/N: Set after the episode aired on Thursday 1st March 2012 - (Carla was cooking spag. bol. and Peter came home and took his mood out on her, causing her to flee.)

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**Better Than Booze**

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Carla dropped onto the kerb and sighed. She felt so frustrated; with Peter, with herself, with _everything_. All she wanted to do was have a drink, and yet in her haste to get out of the flat she hadn't grabbed her bag; and that handy bottle of scotch she'd been carting around with her the last week or so.

She took a few calming breaths. She needed to drink, but she couldn't do it in front of Peter. She might be mad at him, but _he_ was upset too. The least she could do was drink out of sight, so he wouldn't be tempted.

She rooted in her jacket for her keys, unlocking the door and heading back upstairs only to find Peter sat on the couch, with _said_ bottle of scotch open in his hand as he took a long swig.

"Peter?"

He lowered the bottle, overwhelmed with a feeling of guilt at having been caught.

"Carla-"

"What are you doing?"

"Oh- you can hardly say anything, the bottle wasn't full when I found it." he snapped defensively.

"It wasn't empty either. Give it here," she moved towards him with intent, reaching for the bottle but he pulled it out of the way.

"No! If _you_ can drown your sorrows, so can _I_!"

"Don't be stupid-"

"_Me_ stupid?"

"Just give it here!" she reached for it again, misdirecting her anger, desperate now for the comfort of _her_ drink."

"Your mum never teach you to share?" he taunted.

"It's _mine_, Peter."

"Oh! Very mature."

"I mean it, give it back," she choked out, her desperation suddenly hitting him and making his brow furrow in concern.

"No. No- _neither_ of us should drink."

She laughed in disbelief.

"Since when were _you_ the sensible one?"

"Carla, hey- stop it," he softened as she made another grab for the bottle. "You don't need it-"

"Fucking hypocrite," she snapped, eyeing him with a look that could kill. She made another grab and managed to get hold of it, tugging at it but he wouldn't let go.

"I'm sorry-"

"Let go,"

"I'm sorry!" he insisted, realising he'd been more than a little harsh taking his mood out on her when all she'd done was have tea ready with an optimistic smile when he got in.

"I don't care!"

Her anger was arousing. The determination in her eyes, the fierceness of her gaze, and the way she was gripping the neck of the bottle… He moistened his lips as it occurred to him there was _another_ way they could lose themselves, one that wouldn't leave them struggling with a hangover in the morning.

"I've got a better idea."

"Better than _this_? You know what it feels like, Peter-"

He used the bottle to yank her closer, crushing a kiss to her mouth that took her completely by surprise. She gasped at the gesture, meeting his gaze and suddenly realising _exactly_ what he was suggesting.

The whiskey quickly lost it's appeal, dropping to the floor as their hands found purchase in something altogether more pleasurable – _each other_.

His kisses were needy and possessive and different from his usual tenderness, but for the first time since they'd got together she welcomed a less than gentle touch. Angry sex had never been where she saw the evening heading, and she wasn't entirely convinced it was the answer to their problems; but it certainly appealed.

.

Maybe it could be their new addiction.

.

He walked her back towards the table and she let out a hiss of pain as she hit it, seeing his questioning glance and nodding that she was okay, and he could continue.

Reassured, he swiped the plates onto the floor and she let out a chuckle.

"Peter!"

"We can buy new ones."

He tugged at her clothes, hoisting her up onto the table and chuckling himself as she made light work of his jeans; and when he moved between her thighs and slid inside her he wondered why they hadn't thought of it sooner.

"Oh God," she gasped, clinging to him as he started to thrust inside her with intent.

It was rushed and messy, but _oh_ so good.

But the table was creaking loudly, and she wished for a moment they were in her flat. _Her_ table could take more strain then _this_ one. She chuckled at the thought, and Peter slowed down his pace and gave her a confused look.

"What?" he asked her breathlessly.

"I was just worrying your crappy table may not withstand your... _enthusiasm_."

"You snob," he teased, then lifted her up with a strength she hadn't realised he possessed. His eyes scanned the room as he considered ramming her up against the nearby wall, but he quickly ruled it out. He had to be careful not to do anything that might be triggering.

"Peter…" she moaned impatiently, squirming in his hold and desperate for him to finish what he'd started.

He spun them round and eyed the sofa.

It'd have to do.

They quickly settled back into a rhythm, her whimpers of pleasure spurring him on until he felt her start to quiver around him, and he knew it was nearly over.

.

They lay together in the aftermath, smiling stupidly at each other and exchanging gentle carresses, and it was in that moment she was convinced he was right.

_That_ was _definitely_ better than booze.

.

.

.

=)


End file.
